


Love Covers Over a Multitude of Sins

by crazyparakiss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Damnation Kink, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, F/M, Forced Feminization, M/M, Obsession with Purity, Religious Guilt, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4282791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyparakiss/pseuds/crazyparakiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With gentle hands Sirius absolves Regulus’s sin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Covers Over a Multitude of Sins

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015 HP rarepairs fest at Livejournal. As always thanks to CuriouslyFic for all that she does to make my mad musings presentable to the world. 
> 
> Additional Warnings:  
> IMPLIED UNDERAGE SEX. I tried not to have anything too shown for that, but it is implied in obvious ways so if that bothers you turn back now. 
> 
> Also I'd like to add I wrote incest, doesn't mean I practice it or condone incest in the real world. I've just always been intrigued by crazy messed up families and their stories. The Black Family has always seemed like they'd have some Flowers in the Attic shit going on so that's what I rolled with :)

Their “secret”—if one could call a truth everyone in the family knew a  _secret_ —truly began at conception. It began with Father’s constant urgings of “Mind your brother, Regulus. You are his lesser.” Regulus learned early that as  _second_  son he would be little more than a servant meant to heed Sirius’s every command. “The family head is your lord, and your lord’s word is law.”  
  
“Yes, Father,” Regulus replied dutifully while Sirius muttered mockeries beneath his breath.  
  
Over time the sermons became longer and included what was expected of them as  _men_. Father would stand them, in the front receiving room, before the ever expanding tapestry of their noble line. He would force them to recite the names and histories of their ancestors. Once they stopped at the last set of names—Orion-Walburga—Father would mutter darkly, his eyes full of a strange gleam, “In this filthy world, full of muddied blood, only a Black is good enough to birth a Black.”  
  
Regulus never thought Sirius was paying attention. Most of the time, Sirius stared at the old, well-preserved wall with a bored expression. Or he would stand mocking Father with his expression and whispers. Not that Father noticed. Father only noticed failures.  
  
He took notice when Regulus would stumble over wand movements, music lessons, penmanship—Father scrutinised all the  _weak_  points Regulus had. Wearing a cruel curl to his lip he would hiss, “Useless little ponce of a son; your mother would’ve done better to give me a daughter.” Father would dig his fingers into Regulus’s shoulder, seething. Grey eyes cold as winter skies when he bit out, “Cuntless female; that’s what you are, Regulus.” Then he’d sneer, “You are not worthy of my last name.”  
  
After such incidents, when Regulus was curled in quiet dark corners, Sirius would find him. Whether it was intentional or not Regulus would never know. He only knew the comfort Sirius’s larger hand provided, and gladly allowed Sirius to pull him from those shadowed places. A near gentle smile tilted up at the corners of Sirius’s young mouth while he said, “You are such a crybaby.” Then with a casual flick of his practise wand he’d summon dancing shapes or bubbles, “Father’s right, you know, you are a girl.” Regulus’s face would fall, but Sirius’s added whisper always managed to soothe the hurt, “But you’re  _my_  girl.”  
  
As the years grew in number the comfort of the words came less frequently; Regulus learned to bury the hurt and hide the tears that were born from Father’s cruelty. A cruelty that slowly became Sirius’s own. Sirius began mocking Regulus when he started at school. “My stupid, slow brother,” Sirius would cackle when he passed Regulus in the halls of the great old castle that made up Hogwarts. Or he’d trip him with silent jinxes during dinner, lunch, breakfast, and would smirk when Regulus wound up bruised from his efforts. “Always such a girl,” Sirius would say with a cruel tilt of his mouth and an odd gleam in his grey eyes, “Always  _my_  girl.”  
Regulus watched, silently, through the years, as the boyish grin Sirius had worn in youth grew into a handsome smirk. At seventeen Sirius stood as a man should, walked as a man should, spoke as a man should. There were only two years between them, and yet Regulus always felt as if it were centuries. When he looked at Sirius—in those moments when he could gaze without fear of being caught—Regulus saw a man. Broadened, worldly, and cunning.  
  
And Regulus was the fool who fell prey to such a snake.   


 

***

Sirius never looked out of place in the Slytherin common rooms, but his presence therein never failed to cause a tickle of panic to grow in Regulus’s stomach. The sensation rippled through him when he came back from his trip to the library, and there Sirius sat. Perched on one of the black dragonhide couches with a book held carelessly in one hand; Sirius was every bit the embodiment of a spoilt prince, and Regulus felt, once again, small in his presence.  
  
The book snapped closed as Sirius glanced up from its ancient, yellowed pages. The handsome draw of his mouth tilted up at the corner when he saw Regulus staring at him with wariness. “Don’t look so frightened; I’m not the wolf coming to eat you up.” He stood, taller than Regulus was by some bit, and looked down at Regulus with a smile that was more teeth than were necessary or polite. “I’m only here to escort you home for the remainder of Holy Week.”  
  
Biting his lip to contain his groan of despair Regulus walked past Sirius, in the direction of the staircase that led to his dorm room. Sirius fell easily into step behind him, and didn’t ask permission to lie in Regulus’s bed. It wasn’t unusual for Sirius to do things without asking—if he wanted to do something, he did it, if he wanted something, he took it; consequences be damned. Regulus watched his wild brother, from the corner of his eye, while Sirius traced patterns against the dark duvet with long, elegant fingers.  
  
As Regulus rummaged through his trunk, for a book, he could feel Sirius’s stare on him—it was a stare he felt more and more these days. One he wasn’t quite sure how to acknowledge, and was even less sure of how to respond.  
  
In public Sirius claimed he didn’t care one wit about Regulus, but the words he loudly spoke in the halls, near the ears of his obnoxious friends, were a stark contrast to the words Sirius sent Regulus in letters. Terrifying, yet beautiful, paper confessions Regulus kept under lock and key.  
  
To Potter, Sirius would say, “I can’t stand Regulus, he’s an annoying git.”  
  
Then to Regulus, in his lovely script, Sirius would write:  _You torment me, Regulus. Do you see me watching you? The glow of your skin is irradiant, and draws me in as only light can lure men out of darkness. I am a damned man when I see you. I am a mess when I do not, and there is only ruin where we are concerned, but I want, Regulus; I want more than you could possibly comprehend_.  
  
When he chanced a glance at Sirius, Regulus saw the want Sirius wrote of glistening in Sirius’s grey eyes—eyes that were identical to Regulus’s own—and he shivered. Sirius noticed. Sirius always noticed the small nuances in Regulus, and his smile grew from a barely there tilt to a wide, gleaming grin.  
  
“Father’s sent a Portkey, we’ll take it home from just outside of The Three Broomsticks at eight tonight.” Sirius’s voice was the sort of tone cool boys wanted—casually bored, deep, and full of self worth. “Might want to eat what meat you can—God knows Mother’s not going to let us eat more than bread and water until Easter.” Sirius was looking at his perfect nail beds, his usual cruel smile on his face when he added, “Bet she’s done up in her usual scratchy rags. Orion complains about it often enough when he and his chump friends take brandy together.” Sirius mocked Father with his nasally voice that was all whine—nothing like Orion’s deep, terrifying tone—when he next spoke, “ _Ruddy bitch guards her cunt the way the dragons in Gringott’s guard their gold. Not that I’d want a go at her during holy days. Her piety is off putting—no make-up, no jewels, no pretty gowns that I’ve wasted thousands on. She’s all covered in rags and solemn like a fucking governess. Damn, you should’ve seen her in youth—brazen and wanton. Then she had to go and find God._ ”  
  
Regulus frowned, “Father doesn’t say things like that about Mother.”  
  
Sirius chuckled, “You are a naive fool, Regulus Black.” Softer, with almost kind eyes he added, “But you are  _my_  fool.” Then with a ghosting touch to Regulus’s cheek Sirius whispered, “You’d be surprised by all the horrible things Orion says when he thinks no one is listening.”  
  
Confused, Regulus said, “I didn’t think you ever listened?”  
  
With a sharp smile, Sirius stood from Regulus’s bed, offering him a hand as he tisked, “Didn’t your father tell you to never question your brother, Regulus Black?”  


 

***

Mother’s garden was in full bloom when they popped into existence on the front stoop of Number Twelve. Spring had finally come home to London, and Regulus smiled, despite the disquiet he felt at being forced into Father’s company. “Beautiful,” Sirius whispered, his hand a warm weight at Regulus’s lower back, but when he turned he found Sirius staring at the blooming hyacinths.  
  
Just inside the house they could hear Mother directing Kreacher on what to prepare for Sunday’s feast. Regulus was surprised to hear her say she wanted candied eggs; Father normally played merry hell over egg hunts. Regulus could only recall attending one during his early childhood and that had been held at Uncle Cygnus’s and Aunt Druella’s.  
  
“Sirius, Regulus,” Mother called from the drawing room and Regulus went immediately to her while Sirius meandered in at a much slower pace. Mother handed Sirius her scroll, “What do you think, son?”  
  
Sirius appeared rather bored as he listened to Mother list their visiting relatives. Regulus moved to Sirius’s side to glance at the long scroll he held. At the end of Lent they would feast on roasted pig as Black tradition dictated, and would fill their famished stomachs with delicacies they’d been denied for forty days. Not that Sirius denied himself meats or sweets; Regulus saw him eat his gluttonous fill from across the Great Hall during all meals while Regulus only took water and what little nourishment he required.  
  
“Narcissa will be bringing her intended along. I want them seated together, near Cygnus and Druella. You’ll be next to them, Sirius, so you’d best behave,” Mother said when Sirius returned the thick scroll of expensive parchment to her waiting hand. Her fine Black nose wrinkled at the the delicate curving words as she read on, “Bellatrix will be joining us as well, and she will be bringing along that half-mad idiot Cygnus allowed her to marry...Roldolpho, wasn’t it?”  
  
“Rodolphus, Mother—you remember he’s the son of the man you wanted to marry,” Sirius whispered, smooth as silk, as he cocked his hip against the wall. It was a sore point for Mother—or so they’d all heard whispered by the aunts when Bellatrix’s engagement was announced—and Regulus watched her with worried eyes.  
  
“Mind your tone with me, boy, I am your mother,” she dismissed him easily, face devoid of emotion, and Sirius chuckled.  
  
“I am a Black, Mother, I cannot help my tone.” Was Sirius’s dry reply as he moved to exit the front room, clearly done with the idea of holiday preparations.  
  
When Regulus chanced a glance out of the front room he saw Sirius standing with an arm thrown carelessly over the iron that created the ornate bannister. Their eyes met, two sets of identical grey irises that lived in the faces of two extremely different men. Sirius’s mouth tilted up at the corners, while Regulus’s dipped down into a frown. They stood like that, watching one another, for a small eternity. Until Father came thundering down the hall complaining about  _that cunt Millicent Bagnold_  and how  _she was going to ruin the Ministry if she got voted into office_. Sirius openly mocked Father, as he often did, but Regulus’s stubborn refusal to join him had Sirius rolling his eyes, “Bloody killjoy is what you are, Regulus.”  
  
“Mind your mouth, Sirius,” Mother hissed, “It is the Holy Week and I will not have you speaking in such a vulgar manner.”  
  
“Of course, Mother,” he sing-songed as he continued up to his room. The door did not slam; Sirius had outgrown those theatrics years before. However, he did put his record player on, and Muggle music filtered loudly through the house.  
  
“Horrid, rotten boy,” Mother murmured while Father’s scowl deepened.  
  
“When are you going to do something about your son, Walburga,” Father asked her, his hand gripped tight over the silver head of his cane.  
  
“My son, is he? As I recall it, my dearest husband, you told everyone who would listen that he was  _yours_  and that a  _woman’s kindness would make him soft_.” Regulus backed slowly away from his parents. Their arguments were not something he was privy to witness.   
  
“It would have,” Father hissed, gesturing with his left hand at Regulus, drawing him into the fray. The pure silver of his signet ring glinted in the light coming from antique gas lamps mounted in the corners of the room. “Look at how  _your_  son turned out, Walburga, he’s complacent and weak willed.”  
  
“Don’t you bring him into this, Orion,” she said with a deadly calm that frightened more than it comforted. “Regulus is a good boy.”  
  
“He’s a docile little ponce is what he bloody well is, Walburga!” Then with a menacing look Regulus’s way he added, “Would’ve been useful if he’d have been born a woman.”  
  
Mother’s wand was out in a flash, and her grey eyes gleamed with malice when she whispered, “You would do wise to mind your mouth, Orion, it might be the Holy Week but I am not above spilling your blood.”  
  
He bared his teeth at her before he stormed past, jostling Regulus as he went, and Mother sighed once Father was finally gone. She turned to Regulus with a gentle smile, the smile that was her children’s alone, and lately it belonged solely to Regulus. “Your father doesn’t mean half of what he says, child.”  
  
“I know, Mother,” Regulus responded with a soft voice. They’d had this talk many times before, and despite his love for his mother Regulus had lost faith in the lies she’d been saying since long ago. Lies she only spoke to smooth the damage done by Father’s vicious tongue.  
  
Her eyes landed upon the large tapestry of their ever growing family tree; the one that had dominated the wall of their drawing room since the Black Family made this property their own. “Your father loves you boys. He loves this family,” she whispered the last bit mostly to herself, “He has to love us. We are his blood.”  
  
Regulus left her then, making his way up the stairs to the third floor where both his and Sirius’s rooms were located; across the hall from one another with a shared bath between them. When he made it to his door Sirius’s opened. His eyes bore into Regulus as they had on the stairs, as they had begun to do for longer periods of time. Regulus could not recall when it started; one day Sirius had declared Regulus  _his_ , and it went from Sirius being young, arrogant, and bossy to him being mildly obsessed with everything to do with Regulus.  
  
Across the hall Regulus could detect the question in Sirius’s eyes, and he nodded, near imperceptible; Sirius smiled in response. A vivid smile that was all wide, white, and feral.  _Tonight_ , he mouthed and Regulus swallowed.  


 

***

Sirius did not come that night. Regulus had stayed awake through to the dawn, trembling at the slightest sound that creaked through their ancient house. During morning Mass he came close to slumping back in his seat, nearly caved to sleep, but the warm line of Sirius’s body, pressed close to his own, made Regulus alert. Regulus took in none of the homily, too focused on Sirius’s hot palm on his thigh. Sirius acted unaffected, intoning words when appropriate with the rest of the congregation.  
  
Regulus joined the line for communion; crossed himself when he reached the priest, after he’d taken the body and the blood. Sirius was not far behind him, and they gathered, in another line, to wait for communion to end so that they could wash the feet of those less fortunate than they were; the poor, the sick, the hungry, the dying. Father had already given them each a silken purse full of coins to distribute after each washing.  
  
When the less fortunate were washed and coined, Sirius grabbed Regulus gently by the arm, and whispered, “Let me wash your feet, for today I humble myself before you,  _my_  lesser.”  
  
It caused a flush of humiliation to flare through him, but Regulus caved to Sirius’s lusting gaze and followed him to sit before a wash basin. Neither of them noticed the dark look Father trailed between them, nor the worried frown that caused a crease to form between Mother’s well formed eyebrows.  


 

***

Mother wore her finest gown of crimson satin, allowed her beautiful black curls to fall against her bare shoulders, and that was the sure sign that Easter had finally come.  
  
At home their family gathered. The long table in the dining room ever-expanding as more people arrived after noon Mass. Sirius stood in an expensive open robe, black trousers and a dove dress shirt visible beneath the dark velvet Mother had selected. Normally, Sirius did not allow their parents to dictate his wardrobe, but on select holidays Sirius would relent and be content to give Mother what she wanted. Once, when they were ten and eight, Sirius had told him, “ _Father only loves the look of Mother. She’s a doll to him. A thing. Easily replaced and forgotten. The least we can do is try to make her happy._ ” Regulus remembered trying to tell Sirius she was happy; now, however, he wasn’t so sure. He saw the way she pulled away from Father’s touch, the way she shot him cold glances, and how Father, in turn, took to soothing himself in Bellatrix’s sultry smile. Of Regulus’s grown cousins she was the one who looked the most like Mother. When he was a child he could recall Father saying,  _“Bellatrix should have been Sirius’s sister.”_  Since they’d returned for Holy Week Regulus had been recovering memories he never knew were stolen. Snippets of a darker world that lurked in these corridors; ones that were hazy when he tried to force the memory.  
  
In the halls the younger cousins’ laughter rang out, distracting him from his thoughts, and Regulus saw blurs of movement as a couple ran past. “Rigel,” one of their mother’s called after them, “Behave or we will go home.”  
  
Father grumbled about  _the bloody shits ruining his carpets_  with their play. Mother waved them on; telling the children to  _ignore the cranky old man_.  
  
Sirius stood perched against the wall, hip cocked out, as he watched the many children searching through the drawing room for chocolate eggs. One of the girls, Lyra, blushed when Sirius smiled at her, and Regulus rolled his eyes when she gave three of her chocolate eggs to his older brother. With a cocky little grin directed at Regulus, Sirius bit into one with a dramatically slow bite.  
  
“You’re a mess,” Regulus muttered when Lyra and three of their boy cousins ran past. All of them intent on the gardens Mother commanded the house-elves to fill with candied eggs and prizes.  
  
“You’re jealous,” Sirius replied with a casual shrug.  
  
“Over a child of six? Hardly,” Regulus snorted. “If that’s the best you can do then I feel for your future, dear brother.”  
  
Sirius’s hand was tight around Regulus’s bicep and his voice was warm at Regulus’s ear, “Fear not for me, love. Fear for you.”  


 

***

Over dinner, while Mother regaled the aunts with gossip and Father complained about the abhorrent direction the Ministry was going in, Sirius’s left hand traced patterns in the soft linen separating the skin of Regulus’s inner thigh from him.  
  
Sirius appeared nonchalant, easily keeping up a conversation with Uncle Alphard while his fingers danced higher, closer. Regulus’s face was flushed with arousal and he worried that the people around them would see. Chancing a glance up at Sirius revealed a lazy, handsome smile on Sirius’s face; how he could look so composed while tormenting Regulus was baffling.  


 

***

Father took the men into the drawing room for cigars and brandy, while mother led the women to her sitting room for more gossip and sherry. The children were being led home, via Floo, by their nannies. Father extended an invitation for Sirius to join the men in the drawing room, but didn’t offer Regulus the same courtesy.  
  
Sirius’s smile was unkind when he spoke to their father, “No, Father, I’ve grown bored with the tired complaints of old men.”  
  
Mother tried not to look amused when Father flushed in anger, and accepted a kiss to her cheek from Sirius before Regulus moved to do the same.  
  
“I want you both in bed at a decent hour,” she commanded.  
  
“Of course, Mother, I’m thinking of climbing into bed now,” Sirius said with another of his charming smiles.  
  
Sirius didn’t climb into his own bed, rather he joined Regulus in his. The touches that came were frightening and exciting. Touches Sirius had been promising in letters, in whispers, in glances, and fleeting touches for over a year. Regulus had lived in a state of fearful anticipation  _will today be the day_. Sirius loved to wind up his toys, and Regulus was strung taut by the time Sirius’s hand connected with the flesh beneath Regulus’s cloak.  
  
The cold touch to Regulus’s bare stomach surprised a shout out of him. A blush followed, across his cheeks, and Sirius’s smile was wide in response.  
  
Whispering sweet nothings against Regulus’s flesh while he exposed more white skin to the darkness of the room. “They’re downstairs, Regulus—shall I let them hear the sweet prayers you sing for my kiss?”  
  
He shuddered, a ripple of movement that Sirius’s smirk said he could feel, and Regulus reached out with lengthy fingers to card through Sirius’s long hair. Sirius’s grin was feral, even in the low light Regulus could see it, and he surrendered to the beast when Sirius bent his head to press his teeth into supple flesh.  


 

***

Mother and Father were up before dawn with them—to see them off—and in an unusual show of affection Mother’s soft hand cupped Regulus’s cheek, “Be safe, my wonderful boy.” Behind her Father snorted and she cut a glare in his direction. To Sirius she was less warm but still gentle, and Sirius’s smile at Mother was one that tugged at Regulus’s heart. There was something apologetic about the tilt of Sirius’s mouth.  
  
“Grab my hand,” Sirius told him, and Regulus forgot to worry about the almost sad expression Sirius wore. In his brother’s long palm there was a silver trinket, and when they clasped hands they waited only a moment before magic pulled them from the front hall.  
  
Hogsmeade was still dark when they popped into existence in the centre of town. Very few houses were lit, as they passed them on the way to the gates of the school, and none of the shops were close to ready to open. “Take my hand,” Sirius commanded, and Regulus furled his brow at the words. Noticing the expression Sirius grinned, “There are dangerous things in the darkness,  _my_  pet.”  
  
“You’re one of them,” Regulus whispered, but took the warm palm offered to him and allowed Sirius to lead him back to the castle.  


 

***

While the rest of the school was at dinner Sirius would find Regulus, and trap him within the quiet of Regulus’s dorm. Most times Sirius dropped a dirty, heavily creased piece of parchment on Regulus’s bedside table before he shoved Regulus onto the bed and drew the curtains around them.  
  
“What if someone comes in,” Regulus whispered, frantic the first time.  
  
Sirius in his usual show of dominance replied, in a loud tone, “Didn’t your father teach you to never question your brother, Regulus Black?” Even so Regulus stared up at him, with evident worry and Sirius sighed. “Fuck, you’re such a girl about this.” Hurt flooded over Regulus’s face, and he turned away, but Sirius’s soft fingertips lifted up his chin and forced him to look at Sirius’s smirking visage. “But you’re  _my_  girl, Regulus Black.”  
  
Regulus didn’t deny it when Sirius pushed him back against the green duvet, and never made a sound of protest when Sirius exposed him in that private world behind closed velvet curtains.  
  
At the white flesh of Regulus’s trembling shoulder Sirius husked, “If you love me, you will obey what I command.”  


 

***

At seventeen Regulus wasn’t quite sure what he was meant to do with his future. He scored well in his N.E.W.Ts, but still hadn’t decided if he wanted to continue his education. Couldn’t decide in what field he’d go into if he did. Regulus was listless, directionless, useless.  
  
Sirius, on the other hand, had his life mapped from conception, and was falling into his role with graceful ease. Father, who was usually hard to please, wore near imperceptible smiles when Sirius would make suggestions over business plans. At just nineteen, Sirius was shutting men down with cool glances, and was decimating competition while lazily waving a casual arm. Society was thrilled with him; women keen on him while men feared and admired him.  
  
Regulus would never command such respect, and Father made sure he knew it at every turn. “The world doesn’t care for namby-pamby little ponces like you,” he’d sneer. When Regulus questioned Sirius over his latest dealings, Father would glare, “Shut your mouth, boy; it’s not your place to question your brother.”  
  
He never questioned Sirius when he’d slip into Regulus’s room—Regulus’s bed—eyelids at half mast; a foreshadowing of the death that had yet to come. The little death Regulus suffered at Sirius’s hand. Sirius’s pleasure was Regulus’s own—even when it signified his own undoing.  
  
Sirius’s teeth would leave brands in Regulus’s skin— _marks of ownership_  he’d whisper when Regulus touched them without comment. Grey eyes tracked the subtle movements Regulus created, the silent language he spoke with gestures rather than words, and Sirius would press closer, breathe against him, in assuring ways.  
  
“ _My_  love,” Sirius said, breath hot on one of his many purple marks, “You are beautiful when painted with my affections.”  
  
“You think I’m beautiful,” Regulus questioned, while Sirius’s hand guided Regulus’s long fingers to trace against the shapes made by Sirius’s teeth.  
  
The smile Sirius wore was cruel and cocky, while his words ghosted against the sensitive shell of Regulus’s ear, “Didn’t your father teach you to never question your brother, Regulus Black?”  
  
As was usual when that reply came from Sirius’s mouth Regulus would belt up and arch beneath Sirius’s hands as they trailed over his skin. Sirius kissed him, deep and full of a pent up longing. Regulus resisted in a feeble manner; his hands a weak press against Sirius’s unyielding chest. “Do you fear me,  _my_  little one?” Sirius’s smirk grew while Regulus’s eyes went wide, “The Lord delights in those who fear him, who put their hope in his unfailing love.” Beautiful teeth dug into Regulus’s shoulder before Sirius soothed the mark with a dancing swipe of his tongue, “Fear me, and my love.”  


 

***

During Solemnity of Mary, the Mother of God they attended Mass. Mother never let them forget that their duty was to their God while Father constantly filled their minds full of their oath of their lineage.  _Toujours Pur_.  _Always Pure_.  
  
Purity was a running theme in their lives, a state of being Regulus strived for. However, when he felt the heat of Sirius press against his side, while the congregation recited Ave María. A humiliated flush of arousal ran through him as Mother’s prayer reached his ears.  
  
“Ave María grátia pléna Dóminustécum, benedícta tu in muliéribus, et benedíctus frúctus véntris túi, Jésus. Sáncta María, Máter Déi, óra pro nóbis peccatóribus, nunc et in hóra mórtis nóstrae. Amen.”  
  
After Mass, when they returned home. Father retreated to his study, Mother to her conservatory, and Sirius stood before Regulus with a hand stretched out towards him. Mother often spoke of demons, of the temptations they lured souls with, and Regulus was certain she would call Sirius a fiend. A youth in love with the notion of sin. Even so Regulus didn’t care—he took that hand, and willingly offered his soul up for Sirius’s consumption.  
  
In Sirius’s room, covered in Muggle posters of musicians Regulus didn’t recognise, Regulus was exposed and warm while damning hands worshipped his skin. Sirius whispered desires against Regulus. Secret, twisted things he could only divulge to his partner in these lusting crimes.  
  
“I want you, Regulus, in so many ways—scenarios I have no right to see you in, but I still want, love. I want so badly.” Sirius’s words were vulnerable, his eyes pleading, and Regulus offered himself up without question.  
  
His slim hand pressed against Sirius’s warm cheek while he intoned, “Be it done unto me according to Thy word.”  


 

***

Most evenings, after they’d known one another carnally, Regulus woke in the curve of Sirius’s long arms, and the first thing he saw was the innocent visage Sirius wore in sleep. One such night Regulus reached out to touch the straight line of Sirius’s nose—Mother’s nose, Father’s, and Regulus’s, too. Grey eyes opened, and a soft smirk pulled up at the corners of Sirius’s mouth.  
  
The expression on Sirius’s face went dark when shouts tumbled down from the upper floor.  
  
“How dare you make a mockery of me, you mewling little quim; I am your husband, your lord, and I demand your obedience in all things!” The slap was loud in the otherwise stillness of the house.  
  
Mother’s laughter was deranged before she spat back, “Was I wrong, Lord Husband, perhaps I mistook another man for you. Funny, I wasn’t aware all men fucked as terribly as you.” He was shocked, and frowned for he’d never heard Mother yell in a vulgar manner. Had never heard her sound so wild. When he chanced a glance at Sirius he saw his brother was unmoved by the commotion—Sirius appeared rather bored, in fact. Regulus next heard what he assumed was the loud tear of Mother’s gown for she screamed, “I won’t let you touch me with those dirtied hands that you had all over Abraxas’s common whore of a wife!” Another shout left her as a resounding thump reached Regulus’s ear.  
  
“Damn you, woman,” Father hissed. Then less severe—almost gentle, “Always so worried over your purity, my dear—afraid to become your mother, dear sister? Afraid of what that old priest would say if he knew about you—what you’ve done?” His laugh was similar to Sirius’s—full of dark desires—when he added, “I fucked you full of sin already,  _my_  love.”  
  
“Ah,” Mother’s voice was a high breathy sound, then Father’s grunts were there, and finally the subtle sound of wet, slapping flesh. Regulus blushed when he heard them, and when he tried to turn from the sound, Sirius commanded him to listen.  
  
“I’ve hid them from you,  _my_  love, for most of our lives,” Sirius’s breath was damp against Regulus’s ear, “But now, Regulus, you need to listen and learn.”  
  
“Your heart became proud on account of your beauty,” Father intoned as he took Mother. “And you corrupted your wisdom because of your splendor. So I threw you to the earth.” Mother cried out and they heard a thump as if she was shoved to the floor, and then Father’s grunts were back. His voice pitched low and seductive, “I made a spectacle of you before kings.” Mother’s angry shouts warped into something wanton. The breathy pants she released full of want, of need. Her words suddenly commands for him to go faster, harder, longer.   
  
Father’s voice was full of malicious laughter, “You never could resist me, Walburga. No amount of confession will cure you of my hold. I branded you mine in the church, and I brand you again now.” Almost gently Father pleaded, “Quit running from me, Walburga.” When she said nothing, Father gravely recited more scripture, “By your many sins and dishonest trade you have desecrated your sanctuaries...”   
  
Sirius whispered the rest of the verse, in time with Father, against Regulus’s ear while his hand wrapped round Regulus’s cock, “So I made a fire come out from you, and it consumed you, and I reduced you to ashes on the ground, in sight of all who were watching.” Regulus came with a soft cry that Sirius drank down with a probing kiss.  
  
“Orion,” Mother panted—the sound of tears thick in her voice after they had finished, “How long will you torment me?”  
  
In the same tone Sirius always used, Father’s loud whisper reached them, “Didn’t your father teach you to never question your brothers, Walburga Black?”  
  
“Hear them, Regulus?” Sirius muttered, expression solemn, “That is the sad, broken version of us.” He touched Regulus again—gentle fingers against Regulus’s jaw, “I want to play a game, Regulus, will you join me?”  
  
Regulus closed his eyes and nodded. He would do anything for Sirius if it stole away the dark draw of Sirius’s frown.  


 

***

Regulus silently accepted the presence of the corset as a new piece of their damned play when Sirius pulled it from a secret compartment in his wardrobe. Sirius smiled while he showed the crimson article to Regulus. “A beautiful dress for  _my_  beautiful girl.” Regulus turned, bowing his head as Sirius wrapped the contraption around his slim waist. The expensive satin cool against his bare skin, and Regulus shivered in its hold while Sirius tickled his fingers down the knots of Regulus’s long spine.  
  
Biting his lip, Regulus pinched his eyes shut when Sirius tied the laces as tight as he could. Air squeezing its way out of his lungs the tighter Sirius pulled at the ribbons.  
  
“Don’t hold back your cries, Regulus—breathe for me,  _my_  love.” Sirius’s voice was rough with his lust.  
  
So he did as commanded—Regulus released breathy whimpers while Sirius bound him with all his might. Gentle fingers were in his hair, the tickle of magic forcing it longer than Sirius’s own, and Regulus’s wet lashes fluttered when Sirius kissed the luminous skin of his shoulder.  
  
“Look at you,” Sirius whispered, commanding grip wrapped around Regulus’s jaw as he forced Regulus’s head up. In the long mirror he saw what Sirius saw. The illusion of small tits created by the tight bind of Sirius’s corset, and the almost feminine cut of his face when his hair fell past his delicate jaw. “I could almost pass you off as a bride, Regulus Black.”  
  
He swallowed, keeping still as Sirius ran light touches over the line of his shoulder. “Would you be my bride,” and when Regulus locked eyes with Sirius in the reflection of the mirror he couldn’t tell if Sirius was earnest with his question. Sirius’s expression was flat, no light in his grey eyes, and Regulus didn’t dare to get his hopes up by a man who guarded his feelings the way a female horntail guarded her glittering eggs.  
  
Suddenly, the severity of the question no longer mattered, the playful light was dancing again in Sirius’s eyes while he wore his usual wicked grin. “On your knees, _my_  wife,” he commanded, and Regulus had no hesitation as he crouched to do as told.  


 

***

Somewhere in the farce they both forgot that Regulus was not, in fact, Sirius’s bride. Regulus fell under the spell of Sirius’s whispered poetry, his gentle touches, and promises of forever. Until the fragility of their play lessened each week, until the illusion died at the hands of Sirius’s desired reality and moved with them even in the day. No longer afraid of the light, no longer controlled by the blanket of darkness.  
  
Sirius would sit in the study, glancing through thick books on finance, on employees, on inventory. While Regulus poured him tea, prepared him a plate of sandwiches, or brought him the paper and post. “ _My_  love,” Sirius would say, each time, voice full of his affections and eyes soft with a sparkle of joy only Regulus’s presence could bring, “Come chase the melancholy of my day away.” His lips would kiss against the sensitive skin of Regulus’s wrist just before he’d pull Regulus into his lap. “I would much rather spend my hours toiling away with you than these old books.”  
  
So their shamelessness continued, until the whispers of the house-elves reached Father’s ears. He stormed in one afternoon, when they thought their parents were to lunch on Diagon, and his eyes—identical grey to their own—were full of rage. Sirius’s mouth was at the exposed swell of Regulus’s chest, a swell made from the corsets Sirius’s need commanded Regulus wear, and Sirius looked nonchalant when he saw Father had caught them.  
  
“What is this madness,” Father demanded, spittle flying from his mouth with the force of his anger.  
  
Sirius’s smirk did nothing to assuage that fury, nor did his words, “Father, surely you’re not blind?”  
  
“Regulus,” Father commanded, voice low, “Step away from your brother.”  
  
Without permission Regulus’s body began to comply, but Sirius’s voice rooted him to his spot, “Stay, Regulus—your place is here, at _my_ side.”  
  
The stark betrayal on Father’s face hurt Regulus’s heart, but the pain was lessened when he felt the soothing stroke of Sirius’s hand along the curve of his back.   
  
Father’s rage beckoned Mother into the study, and her eyes went wide with understanding when she saw Regulus’s debauched state. Being half hidden behind Sirius didn’t keep him from seeing the flare of agony in her expression. Regulus tried to cover himself; filthy was his skin, and a woman as wondrous—as pure—as Walburga Black should be spared such sights.  
  
“Your son bewitched my boy, Walburga,” Father snarled, wand out and pointed in Regulus’s direction, “He’s a vile little slut, a filth that will bring nothing but ruin to our house!” When Father stepped closer Sirius’s own wand appeared, and with cool, grey eyes Sirius sneered Father down.  
  
“You won’t harm what’s  _mine_ ,” Regulus shivered at Sirius’s tone, and noticed the surprise that widened Father’s eyes. Sirius had never been cold before—playful, rude, cruel, yes, but never cold in a way that incited terror, as he did so now.   
  
The surprise on Father’s face was gone seconds after it’d come, and the cool glance was back, “Sirius, I can overlook this indiscretion; put the wand away.”  
  
Sirius’s smirk was cruel, eyes sparkling with mischief, “You must think I’m stupid, Father,” then covering Regulus from Father’s gaze he added, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you, you can’t bullshit a Black?”  
  
It was an odd expression Father wore; a mingle of pride and turmoil. Then, suddenly as it came, the look was gone, stolen away by unmasked fury, “I will not allow this! This is vile; a level of evil that no amount of your mother’s Hail Mary’s will wash away!” With a hiss he added, “I’ll cut him from the bloody tree, drag him by his hair, and drown his ruined body in the Black lake if I must—but I will separate him from you!”  
  
The laughter that poured from Sirius’s throat was delighted, and Regulus shivered in fear. Sirius sounded mad. Perhaps he was.  _Perhaps they all were_  Regulus thought as he chanced a glance at Mother. Regulus saw that she was haggard with self-loathing. He could see it there in every small line of her ivory skin; the belief that somehow, someway, she’d been responsible for this development. Regulus wanted to assure her that wasn’t true, but he didn’t dare open his mouth when Sirius’s grip tightened on his wand.  
  
“Burn him from the tree, I  **dare**  you, Father,” Sirius’s voice was deep; a calm tone that belied his fury. “You disinherit Regulus and you lose your legacy.”  
  
“That boy was never meant to be my legacy,” Orion spat.  
  
“No, but he will guarantee you the loss of mine,” Sirius’s stance was glacial. “He leaves and I will follow.”  
  
Father had never taken kindly to threats and with a seething expression hissed, “Go then! To hell with you both!”  
  
“Fine,” Sirius yelled, grabbing Regulus by the wrist and leading him to the door.   
  
Mother’s soft voice made Regulus pause, “Why?” Tears made her grey eyes glisten, and she added, “I thought you were the good boy, Regulus.”  
  
Her words were visceral, and even though Regulus hated hurting her, hated disappointing her—his wonderful, good,  _pure_  Mother—he knew what he must do. With a proud spine he stood before these people who bore him into the world, and with a smile whispered, “In this filthy world, full of muddied blood, only a Black is good enough to birth a Black.” Father’s words, the ones drilled into them since the dawn of their existence, Regulus parroted back at them and he felt marginally guilty when Mother put her face in her hands and wept.  


 

***

The family wasn’t the only one who turned them out. Even Potter, Sirius’s best mate couldn’t accept what they were. Regulus felt depraved each time a person told them they were wrong, disgusting, sinful creatures. He’d steal off to the nearest church, and kneel before the statue of The Virgin, begging her forgiveness. Sometimes he wondered, in secret private thoughts he’d never share with Sirius, if he was asking Mary or his own mother to assuage him of this guilt. He oft thought of bathing in anointing oils; wondered if that would purge him of his desires. He wanted nothing more than to save what little reputation Sirius had with others. Desired nothing more than to put Sirius back to a state of untainted.  _Toujours Pur_ —the words mocked him when he’d lie half in sleep, Sirius’s naked, sleeping, sated body beside him while their seed dried and flaked on Regulus’s skin. His self-loathing was rampant in those silent hours, when all he could think of was restoring what was lost to Sirius because of their corruption.  
  
Sirius, though—Sirius didn’t care. Regulus’s wild brother never met a bridge he didn’t burn as he danced across it, laughing all the while. Even knowing what Sirius was like Regulus still took the stigma upon himself. He could have said ‘no’. Should have.  _Didn’t_.  
  
“That’s the Catholic in you,  _my_  love,” Sirius would husk; on the nights when the cold blew in through the thin walls of their flat. His hands hot against Regulus. “I will exorcise that guilt from you.” So he did; tongue a rite of absolution, nails and teeth mortification of the flesh, and the ties of the corset binding him for sanctity.  
  
Beneath Sirius Regulus felt forgiven.  
  
With open arms he drew his brother closer. The brother who whispered against his temple, “Take of my body, Regulus, and know my mercy.”  


 

***

Regulus thought of Mother often, and of Father, and of the cousins who would gather after Mass in their home. It would be a lie to say he did not miss them. The years grew in number, but the dull ache never quite left. Still, when he looked at Sirius—when he caught the promise of acceptance in Sirius’s eyes he forgot that sorrow. He left the guilt when Sirius would hold out his hand; the hand that condemned Regulus as surely as it offered him clemency.  
  
Their homes were never long inhabited dwellings, most dirted, moulded, unrefined, but he needed no splendor. Had no need for vast rooms filled with pretty trinkets that were meant to impress. All Regulus wanted was the touch of Sirius’s hands against his curved spine, the whisper of prayer against his breast, the ties of binding Sirius would pull until he gasped for mercy.  
  
A desire Sirius always fulfilled. His smile the picture of piety while his voice moved through Regulus as a solemn vow. “Come,  _my_  wife, _my_  love,  _my_  Regulus Black—receive my lenity and be free of suffering.”  
  
With wet lashes, Regulus gasped, “Be it done unto me according to Thy word.”   


 

***

Sirius settled them into a cottage by the sea when Regulus was twenty-two and Sirius twenty-four; it was a small one roomed hut that had grey wood floors and windows that refused to come clean. Yet, Sirius called it their palace.  
  
“It is a home,” Regulus stated, mildly amused by the dancing light of Sirius’s eyes, “Any home with you is a castle.” He accepted the kiss Sirius pressed against his mouth, and melted beneath the onslaught of Sirius’s tongue. “You’ll return tomorrow.” Regulus learned through their isolated years not to ask things of Sirius; rather Sirius prefered him to speak them as demands.  
  
“But of course,  _my_  beauty—before the sun sets. I told this client I like to keep business local, but he offered me more for my troubles.” Sirius checked his watch—the one Father selected as a gift for Sirius’s seventeenth birthday—then placed a chaste kiss against the gentle swell of Regulus’s cheek, “Stay true to me,  _my_  wife.”  
  
Regulus cocked his head, coy smile on his face, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  
  
Sirius did not leave just then. Instead he moved closer, filling Regulus with anticipation when Sirius lifted him easily. “The client,” Regulus feebly tried to protest.  
  
“Can bloody well wait,” Sirius’s quiet words ghosted Regulus’s collar, then down to the swell of his small corset made tits. “My duties are to  _my_  wife, above all others.”  
  
Regulus was forced over the counter. The simple linen skirt he wore pushed over his hips, to expose his white rump and long legs. Sirius bit at the curve of his bum, and Regulus groaned. There wasn’t much in the way of lead in, Sirius’s hands opened Regulus as they had many times before, but even still Regulus trembled as if it were the first. At the back of his neck Sirius’s lips were warm and left a damp trail along Regulus’s hairline. His fist wrapped in Regulus’s long hair and he pulled Regulus closer to him, to whisper verse against the shell of Regulus’s ear, “I will bless those who bless you, Regulus, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all people on earth will be blessed through you.”  
  
“Sirius,” Regulus gasped, seed warm within him when Sirius came and soon after he too followed.  
  
A sweet kiss pressed to his still damp hair, and Sirius—composed as ever—said another goodbye before he Apparated from the room.  


 

***

The pop of Apparition roused Regulus from his slumber and he released a joyful chuckle as he rose from their rumpled bed. Down the short stairwell he skipped, eager, and cried, “I knew you’d come home early.”  
  
When he reached the small kitchen/living space Regulus stopped cold. It was not Sirius. In the room before him was his mother. Swathed in dark silks and dripping with the diamonds that were only found in the Black’s family collection. Before her Regulus felt common, dirty, unworthy and hid his hands behind his back as a contrite child would when caught doing something wrong.  
  
“Mother,” he swallowed, and glanced nervously around, “Why are you here?”  
  
She watched him with assessing eyes—eyes that appeared a little too bright. “Is that the proper way to greet your mother, Regulus Black?” She deflated a bit, her shoulders slumping as they had never done before, “It’s been five years, child—come, kiss my cheek.”  
  
He didn’t hesitate as he ran towards her and threw his arms around her neck. For once Mother was not awkward with the brazen display of affection, as she might have been in the past. She wrapped her own slender arms around him and hugged him tight. “I have missed you, my sweet boy.”  
  
“And I you, Mother.”  


 

***

Mother looked out of place here and said the same of Regulus. “You are not meant for this world of nomadic wandering, nor for lingering in dilapidated homes. You were highborn, of the Black Family, and are meant for the halls of our ancestral home.”  
  
He frowned down at his tea cup—chipped and dingy in his hand, nothing like the fine china of his old life, “Sirius was meant for all that, Father has made it known how he feels about me. I would not be welcome.”  
  
“Sirius would never return without you, and even your father knows what must be done for the good of the family.” Mother eyed him, “If you were willing would you help bring your brother home?” She stood to leave, and Regulus watched her go with trepidation. Returning Sirius to his rightful place as heir was best for Sirius, but what of them? Where would returning home leave them?  


 

***

When Sirius came back to their cottage and brushed a hand against Regulus’s cheek Regulus pulled away. Even though he wanted nothing more than to succumb to Sirius’s hands. To his gentle kisses and sweet words. With glassy eyes Regulus watched his beautiful, brazen brother and he couldn’t stop the sob that left his throat.   
  
“Regulus,” Sirius whispered, a question in his eyes.  
  
“I want to go home.”  
  
Sirius’s face was twisted. Something hurt, angry, and Regulus swallowed. He watched, wary, as Sirius stormed through their small home. His fury a force that filled the walls like a foul stench. Long fingers snatched up random objects before Sirius hurled them across the room, a framed photograph of them shattered against the wall, as did a random vase.  
  
“Can we please go home, Sirius?” Regulus’s voice was soft, fearful and vulnerable.  
  
For once Sirius didn’t come back with his usual glib reply, and Regulus had to bite back another sob as he watched him walk away. Bit his tongue to keep it still and keep from trying to undo all the damage his request had created.  
  
_It’s better for Sirius this way_  Regulus told himself. Funny, how what was  _right_  felt horribly wrong.  


 

***

Going home wasn’t easy. The house loomed before them, and Sirius’s face was grim as his best cloak whipped about in the wind. Regulus watched him with a worried frown marring his face. Sirius had been so silent these past few days, and had guarded his expressions so well Regulus was unable to interpret his deeper feelings. All he knew for sure was that Sirius was angry.   
  
The door opened for them, as it had always done, and Sirius strode into the front hall with a hard set to his mouth. Regulus followed; feeling odd in his slacks and button-up. For too many years he had grown accustomed to the gowns, the corsets, the stockings. His collar now was too high, and he pulled at the itchy feel of it when he stopped beside the stairwell.  
  
Kreacher met them in the foyer, bowing low enough that his nose nearly touched the floor. “Welcome home, Master Sirius.” He looked pained when he lifted his big eyes to stare at Regulus, but Regulus knew that Kreacher had probably been forbidden to speak to him on Father’s order. “Please follow Kreacher, Master Orion is waiting for Master Sirius in the study.”  
  
Sirius didn’t offer a word nor a glance to Regulus; he merely followed Kreacher down the hall. Regulus felt a knot of anxiety form in his gut; this felt like an ending rather than a beginning.  


 

***

Regulus wasn’t invited to sit in on Father and Sirius’s discussion, as was usual. Mother instead invited him into her tea room, where she had the table sat with tea and biscuits. “Join me, Regulus,” she said with a gentle voice, “Let us talk.”  
  
When she’d poured his cup and added his two sugars Mother passed him his drink. He took a sip, nodding in approval, then waited as she silently yet visibly weighed her words.  
  
“There are things about this family that you do not understand.” When he didn’t question her she released a sigh, “I am sorry, my son, for what’s become of you.”  
  
He smiled; a sad, vulnerable curl of his lips, “I am not sorry, Mother.”  
  
“You should be, Regulus.” She took his hand into hers, “I have lain with my brother, Regulus. I have lain with him and have given birth to the both of you.” Her eyes were bright, and it was the second time he’d ever witnessed such stark emotion in his mother.  
  
He furrowed his brow, “Narcissa’s father is my father?”  
  
“No, son,” she watched him until the moment when understanding dawned on him. Regulus remembered that night, all those years ago, when they listened to Father and Mother as they made love—if one could call those angry shouts making love—together in the hall.  
  
“Father’s father is your father as well?” He wasn’t nearly as shocked as he should have been; Grandfather Arcturus—his only grandfather, it seemed—was not known for fidelity. He had five bastard children that Regulus knew of before, and now—knowing about his mother—it seemed Arcturus had six.  
  
“Yes,” she replied with closed eyes.  
  
“Did you always know?” He could not judge her—Regulus, too, had lain with a brother. He could not see the speck in his mother’s eye and refuse to notice the plank in his own.   
  
“No,” she looked down at where her hands were clasped in her lap, “But your father did. He’s known since we were young.” After a swallow she added, “I believe he became obsessed when he found out. With the purity we could create. He wanted so badly for you to be a girl.”  
  
Regulus didn’t need to ask why, but did so because he wanted to hear her say it.  
  
Mother appeared broken when she spoke, “If you had been born a girl you could’ve given birth to the perfect Black heir.”  
  
“But I was born the wrong gender.” Regulus, too, was saddened by that turn of fate.  
  
“Even so, Sirius obsesses for you the way your father obsessed with me.” Mother didn’t appear glad at the thought.  
  
Obsession. Regulus wondered if that was all it was between them.  


 

***

Sirius didn’t touch him once he returned to his post as the first son. Not that Father or Mother told him to stay away; it was his own choice. Regulus was lonely. Since that first time—when Regulus was fifteen and Sirius was seventeen—Sirius had not abstained from Regulus.  
  
After dinner one night, near seven months after their return, Regulus stopped him in the hall with a gentle hand, “Do you not miss me?”  
  
The touch he placed against Sirius’s forearm Sirius jerked away from, and with a cold expression said, “Didn’t your father teach you to never question your brother,  _boy_?”  
  
When Sirius walked away from him Regulus wept; sliding to the floor against the wall where his ancestors looked down on him from their portraits.   


 

***

Father found Sirius a bride not long after the incident in the hall. Announced it to the family during dinner, “She’s no Black, but she’ll do,” and Regulus felt his stomach lurch when Sirius didn’t say a word of refusal.  
  
When he excused himself that evening Regulus went to Sirius’s room, pulled his first corset from the hidden alcove in the wardrobe, and laced himself within it. Sirius took hours to return, and when he walked in Regulus watched as he began to remove his tie and popped open the buttons of his shirt.  
  
He sat, silent, on Sirius’s bed—dressed in Sirius’s favourite of his gowns—while he waited for Sirius to notice him.  
  
Of course, his hard to fool brother, had noticed him when he walked in, and with a bored drawl said, “Go back to your room, brother.”  
  
Regulus swallowed before he replied, “I thought I was your wife.”  
  
Sirius’s laugh was cruel. “Are you? Would  _my_  wife march me back here, to this place I hate, and would  _my_  wife sit in ugly rags, silent, while my father spoke of marrying me off to some slag?”  
  
“My husband has not touched me in months,” Regulus said, voice angry and desperate. “We’ve returned home and yet I feel as if I’ve returned alone.” His hands tried to reach for Sirius but Sirius pulled away from their grasp, “I feel so lonely, Sirius.”   
  
When Sirius turned to face him his eye were wild with fury, “Why did you bring me here, Regulus? Weren’t you happy?”  
  
“I am guilty,” he whispered, the anger draining out of him, and suddenly Sirius was there. His thumbs gently brushing away the tears that fell from Regulus’s eyes. “I lured you into darkness. I ruined you, Sirius.”  
  
“You,  _my_  Madonna, could never be darkness.” He leaned Regulus back, covered him with his longer body, and kissed at Regulus’s mouth, “I absolve you, and take any guilt you feel unto myself.” His hands opened the corset’s binding, exposing Regulus as he had done so many times before; his fingers gentle, full of worship and devotion. “I have always been the darkness, Regulus, and you have always been  _my_  salvation. You are  _my_  bride.”  
  
“I will never give you a son, Sirius. I can never give you what you deserve.” Regulus would never escape that particular guilt, but Sirius’s touch soothed the ache.   
  
Sirius kissed him silent. Fucked him deeply. Pulled cries from Regulus like a musician plucked music from strings. When Regulus tried to quiet himself or begged for a silencing charm Sirius growled at him, “Let them fucking hear! I will not hide my sins, Regulus. They are my honour and my pride.” He bit brands into Regulus’s milky skin—left deep purple marks where the corset would make his tits swell. The press of his teeth left impressions in Regulus’s throat, and still he demanded to leave more marks. Regulus let him.  
  
Hours later—when Regulus had screamed himself hoarse and Sirius had shouted obscene filth that was loud enough to rouse their dead—Sirius whispered against Regulus’s temple,“I deserve you; only you. I will take no wife other than the one I hold now, I will have no sons—my destiny is you, Regulus Black.”  


 

***

Father raged when Sirius turned down every bride candidate; even the ones who knew of Regulus and were open to accepting their place as second to him in Sirius’s life. He threatened Regulus’s life until Sirius whipped out his wand with calm fury. “I have a wife, and you will respect that, or you will lose us again.”  


 

***

Sirius was named head of the family three years after they returned; when Father had grown tired of fighting Sirius—after Father nearly died due to an “accident” involving a potion. Regulus never asked about the incident, neither did mother, but it was an open secret that Sirius would do anything to protect Regulus from the vile insults and threats Father took to yelling at Sirius’s  _bride_.  
  
Sirius accepted the Black family wand, as every Lord Black before him had, during a long and tedious ceremony. A ceremony in which his wife stood at his side, draped in dove grey satin and the ancient Lady Black’s diamond encrusted diadem—as every Lady Black before Regulus had done. They held a ball afterwards—in the ballroom with it’s tall vaulted ceiling and giant crystal chandelier. During the celebration Sirius introduced Regulus as his bride—to the noticeable astonishment of every noble they encountered.  
  
Polite society dictated that no one would question the things Sirius spoke as his own brand of truth; though they would whisper about Sirius behind their hands. Called him twisted, evil, incestious.   
  
Regulus hated the way they judged Sirius, but Sirius’s hand at his back calmed him, and when Sirius introduced Regulus—corseted and gowned—Regulus smiled. A demure expression as he’d daintily offer his hand to be kissed.  
  
“You’re the envy of this room,  _my_  jewel; look at the way they stare—they can’t take their eyes off you,” Sirius breathed against Regulus as they danced. Their bodies were close together, near fused as they swayed, and Regulus delighted in the joy Sirius wore openly for all the world to see.  


 

***

Their “secret”—if one could call a truth everyone in the family knew a  _secret_ —truly began at conception. It began with Father’s constant urgings of,  _Mind your brother..._  and would continue until they returned to dust.  
  
Regulus still wondered, at thirty-seven, if this was love or obsession. Perhaps even a long rebellion—one Sirius might one day give up to return to the true comforts of his destined role. The one that included a  _real_  wife. Not just the brother he wrapped in expensive dresses and called his bride. Regulus’s mind plagued him with fears of abandonment. Haunted him so thoroughly that when they made love he clawed into Sirius’s back—until he could feel the blood beneath his nails—to anchor himself to this man he loved to the point of madness.  
  
Sirius never asked, not even when Regulus drew his blood, and Regulus grew tormented by the silence.  
  
One night, by the fire, when they were listening to they carolers up the street, Regulus questioned Sirius.  
  
“Do you love me?”  
  
There was age now around those eyes Regulus had known since birth, but even still they were just as playful as they had been in youth. “Didn’t your father teach you not to question your brother, Regulus Black?” Sirius’s voice was full of laughter, but his actions were deliberate and solemn. Long white fingers unlacing the binds of Regulus’s corseted gown while Sirius’s gaze held Regulus’s. Grey eyes—twins to Regulus’s eyes—dark, but tender.  
  
When Sirius kissed Regulus, deep and slow, he felt the force of Sirius’s feelings. Felt them down to his soul, and when Sirius broke away with wet, swollen lips he whispered against Regulus’s mouth, “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is  _mine_.”


End file.
